Niffler, Thy Name is Matchmaker
by strangefellow45
Summary: The Niffler and Graves are Bros. Best Bros. Except when the little kleptomaniac gets his paws on The Pocket Watch. But hey, can you blame a Niffler? After all it is shiny, and it gets the guy mommy likes to visit the case more often. Rating will probably change, but it is pritty fame for now. Was not my intent to have it be a chapter fic, but whoops. FLUFF! Read and Review!
1. The Pocket Watch

**Hey everyone! So It looks like Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them has taken over my life now (not that I'm complaining). And because (being totally honest) the Niffler is my favorite character, followed closely by Pickett, then Newt, then Graves, I want Niffler cuteness. And while I know that there never was a "Real Percival Graves" because apparently Grindie is a freaking BAMF at transfiguration (thank for that J.K.), I like the idea of a "Real Percival Graves" almost as much as I love the Niffler. These two things together give me this: Graves (the real one) and the Niffler are** ** _total_** **Bros (just as long as the pilfering pest keeps his paws off The Pocket Watch Graves' dad gave him as a graduation gift). Add in the fact that Newt and Tina, while adorable, had zero chemistry in the film (which ok, they have four more to fix that problem, but I don't think they can) and voila! The Niffler gets to play mackmaker! Please, don't judge me for writing on four hours of sleep; I am at my most creative this way.**

 **Disclaimer time! If you recognize it, I probably don't own it (unless it is an OC from one of my other fics, in which case I do own it). I am making ZERO money. Also! I have a pole up on my profile for names for the Niffler, because I don't know what to call it. So if you could help a brother out, that would be grand. And, if someone could do a check for me through the story, that would be great. For some reason my keyboard is having a hard time with the letter "a", and I have noticed that sometimes I am missing the letter in a word. I think I got all of them in this one, but you never know.**

 **As always, Read, Review, and most importantly ENJOY!**

 **Marla Strangefellow out, peace.**

 **-LineBreak-**

This time, it was war.

It had started innocently enough; missing paperclips here, a missing handful of change there. Yah know: little stuff. Stuff that, while perhaps inconvenient not to have when buying the morning cup of caff, was not essential for life to go on. Hell, after the first time Graves caught the Niffler sneaking off with the directors pair set of cufflinks, it turned into something of a game: Niffler 21 ½, Graves 13, Scamander 25 (not that Graves was keeping score or anything).

But this? This was one too far.

"Miss Goldstein, do you have the time?"

"Uh, yes sir. Its 12:52." The recently reinstated Auror responded, confusion evident in her voice.

"Thank you, Miss Goldstein."

This time that dammed Niffler actually took something of value (not that the enchanted jade dragon had been cheap, but he had dropped it on the floor outside the door so it only counted for half a point).

The Pocket Watch. Capital T, P, and W. The Pocket Watch that Graves' father had given him when he had graduated from Ilvermorny. The one the Director used _every-god-dammed-day_ for the last twenty years to get to work on time, to go to lunch, to time out black market sting operations down the dammed _second._

This time, it's personal.

Newt stood inside his magical case with a look of abject horror on his face.

"You didn't," The Niffler whom Newt is addressing, has the gall to look smug as it rearranges the silver pocket watch to sit more visibly in its gilded nest.

"Oh Merlin, you did."

The Niffler gives a squeak of agreement as if to say "yep, point for me".

Newt hastily grabs the watch, much to the dismay of the Niffler and gives the small furry black beast a disappointed glare.

"You do realize, that when the Director finds out this is missing he will want to turn you into a purse."

The Niffler just pouts.

Newt grabs his blue coat and his wand as he sprints up the latter that leads out of the case. And runs right into Graves who is on his way down it.

The two land at the bottom of the latter in a rather painful heap. Newt is all elbows and, okay, _ow_ that is a knee to the groin.

"Director Graves, I'm- I'm so sorry! I didn't see you coming down!" Newt stutters out.

"It's alright, Mr. Scamander. I should have knocked louder before entering." Percival say through a wince, as Newt shifts to get up and puts more weight on the knee that is pushing painfully on his groin.

"Let me help you up," Newt says, and offers the dark haired man a hand.

Gratefully, the head Auror takes it and is pulled to his feet with surprising strength. Graves overbalances slightly, and has to grab onto the lean shoulders of his red headed companion to keep from falling again.

"I was actually on my way up to find you, sir."

"Were you?" Graves asks, one eyebrow arched, and the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," Newt says, holding up the watch in the palm of a calloused hand, which is ( _thankfully)_ still ticking. "It would seem that this belongs to you."

"I had a sneaking suspicion that it was down here, and I was just on my way to retrieve it." Graves responds smoothly.

"Ah, I, uh, I thought you would be." Newt stammers out, blushing slightly.

The two just stare at each other for a while, the silence stretching into the realm of uncomfortable rather rapidly.

"Ah, here." Newt says, breaking the strained quiet, and pushes the watch into the older wizards hands.

"Yes, uh, thank you Mr. Scamander." Director Graves responds with a slight cough, the tips of his ears going the faintest shade of pink.

"I am sorry about him," Newt says as the Director begins to ascend the stairs back into the regular world.

"I don't know what has gotten into him. It seems like his treating it as a game of sorts."

"It's alright, Mr. Scamander." The Director says in a clear voice, ears turning a darker shade of pink. But mentally, Graves is adjusting the score board: _Point Niffler._


	2. Diricawl Feathers and Games of Tag

**Hey Everyone! I just wanted to take a moment to say** ** _thanks_** **to all the people who have read this story so far. I saw that it already has some followers, and I got to say that it really means a lot to me. While it was not my intent to have another chapter fic, I do, so I will be trying to get this fic done in four or five chapters. No promises, no guaranties, but I will try to keep to those numbers. Because this fic has turned into a sandbox story, I feel it only fair to tell you what I'm thinking when I write the chapters. Yall know that Graves is crushing harder than a twelve year old, and has** ** _no clue_** **what to do about it. Like,** ** _what are emotions?_** **Does he have the flu, because there is this funny feeling in his stomach, and has no idea why.**

 **Newt on the other hand, the cinnamon role that he is, ain't doing much better. Shure he has a crush, and he knows it. But Leta messed him up pretty good when it comes to human relationships – the last time he liked someone, well, he got expelled. Besides, he's all long limbs and sharp angles, stutters and slumped shoulders. (Newt knows this because he has been told so, repeatedly). Why would anyone like him?**

 **So my poor babies, one has the emotional recognition of a teaspoon, the other is in denial. And the Niffler (who I still don't have a name for, but I am leaning towards Charles) is done with this shit. So, he calls in reinforcements. Namely Darwin the Diricawl (because it's a Dodo, get it? Darwin, Dodo? My geek is showing, I'm sorry) who is totally on board with operation Gramander.**

 **So this is basically this chapter's inspiration. I don't own anything, I make no money, but boy do I wish I was.**

 **As always, Read, Review, and ENJOY!**

-linebreak-

Graves is running late. Only this time, the Auror can't even blame the Niffler. No, this time the blame belongs to a blue coat and long legs. Not that the Magizoologest is knows it. In fact Graves hasn't seen freckled hide or red hair of the man since he fell on Newt three days ago (Graves also hasn't seen the Niffler either, nor is anything missing, which Percival will admit has him kind of suspicious).

No, Newt himself has done nothing to Graves that would make the Director late. Except be on his mind every time the Auror closes his eyes.

While the Latter Encounter had not been the most pleasant (or at least the most comfortable) interacting between the two men, Graves can't deny (to himself at least, everyone else can shove it) that the close proximity made his heart race. Newt had been warm and solid on top of the Auror. Why Newt ended up on top when Graves had been the one coming down the latter, honestly, Graves has no clue. And while Percival could have done without the knee to the groin, he could feel the strength of Newts lean frame with each little movement.

Then, oh _and then,_ Newt had stammered and blushed like he wasn't the same man that had gone toe to toe with the most powerful dark wizard to date – by himself – and come out in one piece.

This is what had caused Percival to linger under the shower spray for far too long. Well, fine, Graves was only running ten minutes behind. But still. Ten minutes late and people were outright gawking at the Director when he enters MACUSA. His image, Graves mentally laments, is ruined.

-linebreak-

"Darwin, you get back here."

The Diricawl is sitting at the base of the latter that leads out of the case, watching Newt.

"Darwin, please just come to mummy."

The bird looks at Newt, takes a single step forward, then disappears with a 'pop'.

"Bugger,"

-linebreak-

There is a Diricawl sitting in his inbox when Graves enters his office; its bright teal and yellow feathers contrasting with the silver and white décor.

"Huh," Graves says ineloquently from the doorway.

The sound gets the birds attention and it turns its head sharply to look at Graves. There is a small 'Pop' and suddenly the Diricawl is at the Aurors feet.

"Hello," Graves says to the bird which chirps in response.

Percival pulls his door closed and walks over to his desk, the fluffy bird not far behind him. Putting his briefcase on t=the desk and opening it, Percival takes a seat in his chair ('Pop!'), only to have the Diricawl begin nesting in the open box. With a sigh, Graves reaches to pick the bird up, but just before his hands reach the bird it 'pop's away to stand in front of the door.

Graves raises an eyebrow at the bird, shakes his head slightly, turns his attention back to his case, and begins pulling out papers that need to be signed. He has the quill in his hand and is leaning forward to sign what is the first of many forms – this one on the recent sting operation over black market cauldrons – when he gets a face full of teal feathers.

Spluttering and sneezing, Graves recoils tipping over his chair in the process. Papers and feathers go flying. The Diricawl give a loud indigent squawk, and the scarf that Graves had put on that morning when he was leaving his apartment falls to the floor a few feet behind where Percival's' head had landed. Graves watches, upside down as the Diricawl spots the garment, waddles over to it, takes it in its beak and 'pop's out of sight.

Graves scrambles to get up from the floor and to the door. It is not dignified, nor is it becoming of the Director of Magical security but Graves could not care less. Wrenching the door open he rushes out to look for the bird and –

Finds it sitting in the middle of the hallway, waiting. It chirps at him. Graves advances slowly and gets about two feet away from the bird before it 'pop's again and reappears further down the hall.

"Good morning Director,"

"Morning," Graves responds distractedly, eyes focused on the blue bird which has waddled back towards him slightly. This is probably a good thing, as it means the Director missed the surprised look the new Auror gives him. The Diricawl chirps, and Graves tilts his head, realization dawning. It's a game.

Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and Right hand to the President of MACUSA, is playing a game of keep away with a Diricawl. Merlin, he feels like an idiot. Turning around, Percival walks back into his office, the bird chirping behind him.

'Pop'. The bird, which comes up to about knee height, blocks Percival's path for getting to his chair, the scarf still clasped firmly in its beak. Percival tries to go around the bird, but it moves with him.

 _Great,_ the Auror thinks, _Now we're playing tag._ But despite the irritation that he feels, there is the beginning of a smile on his face. And so the morning goes, Percival trying to get to his desk, and the Diricawl trying to keep him from reaching it. By the time Newt arrives, Graves has taken off his over coat and is down to his vest and shirt, hair slightly mussed.

"Director, by any chance have you seen a-" Newt say when he enters the room without knocking.

"Oh, I see you have then."

Graves had finally managed to get his chair upright and sit in it, but the Diricawl not to be outdone had taken a seat in his lap. This is the scene Newt finds when he enters the room.

"So it is yours," Graves says, the largest smile Newt has ever seen the man give on his face, gently stroking the Diricawls feathers.

"What gave it away?" Newt jokes back, voice a little horse, and he prays that the Director doesn't notice.

"Call it a hunch." Well, it's not really a smile, more of a lopsided grin.

"I am sorry if Darwin was trouble," Newt says setting his case down on the floor, looking everywhere but at Graves, because that grin makes him a little weak in the knees and the last thing Newt wants to do is fall in front of the Auror.

"Darwin?"

"The Diricawl, that's his name. I thought it was fitting, evolution and all that."

Graves hums his understanding, still stroking the bird.

"If I, uh, If I could take him I'll put your office right." Newt gets out.

Graves gets up, a firm grip on the bird, and walks over to Newt.

"How did he get out?"

"Ah," Newt says face going slightly pale. "See, I had gone down into the case to get a sample of of some of the new doxy eggs to examine, when Darwin decided he was going to be adventurious."

"I thought you had anti aperation wards on the case?"

"I do, it's just, I had left the top of the case open and, well… Diricawls are notorious for taking an escape route if they find one."

"I see."

Newt gently takes the bird from Graves, nervousness evident in his posture.

"I'm not going to write you up,"

"I'm sorry?" Newt almost drops Darwin, almost.

"For Darwin getting out, I'm not going to write you up, if that is what you are worried about." Graves says voice sincere.

"Oh, well, thank you." Newt responds after a second. "Just let me get him back in his nest, and then I'll fix your office for you."

And before Percival has a chance to argue, the red head has disappeared into the depths of the magical case. By the time Newt comes back up, most of the papers are picked up. Newt, true to his word, sets the office right with a wave of his wand. Papers go flying back into neat stacks, yellow and teal feathers fall into a waist bin, the pencils on the desk reorganize themselves.

"Well, it was good to see you Director,"

"Call me Percival,"

Newt looks at the older man, a hint of a smile playing on his face.

"The way I see it, I should at least be on a first name basis with you if I am with your animals."

"Then call me Newt," The Brit says.

Graves walks Newt to the door, Newt still smiling.

"Have a nice day, Direc- Percival." Newt says, tripping over the name.

"Likewise, Newt."

Turning back to his desk, Graves brushes a stray feather from his hair. It's not the same bright teal as most of the other feathers. It's fluffy, incredibly soft and the same color as Newts coat. Percival tucks it into a corner on the photo of his Mother and father, a small smile on his face.

It's an hour before Percival realizes that Darwin never gave back his scarf; _Point Diricawl._ Honestly, Percival can't bring himself to care.


End file.
